


The Woman Behind the Man

by deklava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, F/M, Pegging, Sex Toys, Simultaneous Orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Ready, sir?” you ask in the same cheery but respectful tone you use when you ask if he wants his tea. But what he wants right now is not a cup of Earl Grey with lemon: it’s the massive latex shaft you’ve just finished attaching to your hips and lubricating.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woman Behind the Man

**Author's Note:**

> My lovely beta, **chasingriver** is on holiday, so any mistakes are all mine :)
> 
> Written for a kinkmeme prompt.

The most powerful –some say the most _dangerous_ \- man in Britain is bent over the desk in front of you. His entire body, pale and naked, quivers in anticipation. Outside the locked door, phones ring and assistants chatter.

If they only knew.

“Ready, sir?” you ask in the same cheery but respectful tone you use when you ask if he wants his tea. But what he wants right now is not a cup of Earl Grey with lemon: it’s the massive latex shaft you’ve just finished attaching to your hips and lubricating.

Physically, he’s ready. His hole, pink and slightly sore-looking, is relaxed and glistening with lube. While you were removing your skirt and knickers and untangling the dildo’s sleek harness, he was preparing himself using the long white fingers that sign so many peace treaties and death warrants.

Mycroft Holmes nods. “Proceed at once,” he directs, precise diction belying his eagerness.

You bite your lower lip to suppress your moan as you watch his arse swallow the slick black device inch by inch. He whimpers when you’re about three inches in, but you don’t stop. You know that he welcomes the uncomfortable stretch that initially accompanies penetration.

For Mycroft Holmes, being fucked is not merely an act of physical pleasure. It’s also a distraction, and like his brother Sherlock, he needs distractions to cope with a life complicated by a too-sharp mind. Bending over his desk (or, on rare occasions, lying on the sofa with his long legs around your waist) and opening his body to you makes it possible for him to function in his world awhile longer.

When you shift your hips so that the dildo’s textured base rubs against your clit, you both gasp: the movement has helped you find his prostate quickly. He wriggles his arse and pushes back against you, silently begging you to go deeper, to take him apart, help him temporarily forget the dossiers and e-mails and calls.

“Dear God,” he breathes. “How much am I paying you?”

“What you think I’m worth, sir.” You rotate your hips, massaging the spot inside him that makes his toes curl and his breath stutter.

You’re negotiating for a raise, after all.

“I doubt it,” he groans. “I shall have to rectify that once we finish.”

By ‘finish’, he means after you fuck his tight, slick hole until he shoots a massive load against the towel draped between the desk edge and his generously sized cock, which is already dripping precome onto the rug. (The juices trailing down your thighs are adding to the mess, but you don’t care.)

“Thank you, sir,” you say, just before you seize his shoulders to anchor yourself and plunge all the way in.

“Damn it!” he moans, digging his teeth into one freckled forearm to keep the whole office from knowing that he’s your bitch right now. “Oh…oh, God.”

Your cock isn’t even technically ‘yours’, but pleasure consumes you when you feel him clench around it. As he shudders, the dildo’s warm and slick rubber base massages your clit, making your cunt throb and swell until the straps are painfully tight.   

Mycroft reaches back and presses both sweaty palms against your buttocks, preventing you from pulling out, intentionally or otherwise. You’re trapped, but you’re not complaining.

“Do it now,” he orders. “Fuck me.”

When he relaxes his grip, you obey, pounding into him. His hands fall to his sides and he meets each of your thrusts with one of his own, slapping your skin noisily together. A couple of times you pull out long enough to rub his perineum with the dildo’s glistening tip, just the way he likes it. When he moans and squirms, dilated hole blindly seeking the device, you tease his rim with it until he’s on the verge of begging. Then you shove back in with a force that leaves both of you breathless.

Your chignon comes undone, sending your dark hair tumbling down your bare back as you fuck your boss. The air in the spacious office is thick with the smell of his arousal and well as yours.

“Deeper!” he begs, spreading his legs more. “Harder!”

You push his shoulders down with greater force, relishing the desperate noises he makes with each snap of your full hips. You know he’s nearly there when he takes his cock in hand and wanks in perfect sync with your thrusts.  Inspired, you reach down and massage your clit, which is swollen and slippery. You’re impressed when you manage to fuck him and yourself without missing a beat.

It doesn’t take long before he goes rigid from head to toe. His sphincter grips the latex shaft so tightly that you can feel it as he comes all over the towel. With each thick and milky spurt he shakes and curses and makes sounds that are meant to be your name.

You’ve never felt more powerful in your life.

You throw yourself onto his sweat-glossed back and chase your own orgasm until the friction is too much and the building heat between your legs finally explodes. Your knees shake, your cunt muscles spasm wildly, and you’re sure that your mouth is a perfect O, like those ridiculous faces on the blow-up dolls the Chinese ambassador is fond of.

Your climax is so intense that you actually squirt, drenching his thighs in your juices. You wonder afterward whether some of it reached the towel and comingled with his lazily dripping sperm.

Maybe he’ll lick it up in front of you again.

As you gently pull out after your legs are steadier, you acknowledge that you’re definitely not a blow-up doll. More like a fucking machine. The woman literally behind the man who runs the country.

Mycroft grasps your hand and holds it as he waits for his heart rate to return to normal. As you brush your thumb over his skin in soothing circles, you remember what Irene Adler said when she tried –and failed- to recruit you.

_When you have a man’s body, my dear, his secrets soon follow._

Let women like Irene chase secrets until one day their obsession kills them. You’re perfectly happy with this.

 


End file.
